


Sub Rosa

by Zeke Black (istia)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M, Old West, POV Ezra Standish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:09:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istia/pseuds/Zeke%20Black
Summary: Ezra, Chris, and a stagecoach ride.





	Sub Rosa

Stagecoaches were the invention of a malicious deity. He'd somehow previously failed to notice the infernal quality of their incessant rocking on powerful springs: Forward and back, like a merciless hand controlling a giant cradle.

He'd once thought their speed and motion second only in excitement to the powerful rush of a train. On his first exciting stage journey, he'd accelerated each bounce with an extra spring of his own--until Mother told him that gentlemen didn't _bounce_. No, not even if their feet didn't reach the floor yet. He'd kept his glee more subtle then, and Mother had smiled.

But now it was Chris grinning slyly at him from beneath his hat on the seat opposite. Chris's legs were planted apart, nominally for balance, his tight black pants showing the distinct outline of his cock within the shadowed vee formed by the two sides of his jacket, a shield to his flagrant display from every eye except Ezra's.

Meanwhile, his own tailed coat, stylish and attractive as it was in carmine wool, didn't offer anything near the same convenient cover. He'd been reduced to crossing one leg over the other, then hanging onto the strap above the window for dear life to keep himself from being flung out of his seat.

With his current run of luck, in that event, he'd likely fall face-first into the very same enticing lap opposite him that he was doing his infernal best to pretend didn't exist.

He trusted he looked nonchalant and in perfect, gentlemanly control, at least to everybody other than Mr. Smirk Larabee himself.

The other passengers encased in this rocking horse of hell consisted of two women and two men. The gentlemen were seated to his left, one a slender young fellow with spectacles who divided his time between a book and the vista passing rapidly out the window. The older man crammed in next to Ezra, arms crossed over his chest, kept nodding off, then jerking awake.

The women were seated next to Chris and probably formed a family unit with the males. The middle-aged matron wearing black crepe kept fanning herself with a folding fan painted with a fetching Chinese design, a current rage in the metropolis. Her companion, presumably her daughter given the similarity in their coloring and the shape of lips and chin, was a pretty young miss whose china-blue eyes, peeping out of the winged sides of her straw hat, were attempting a coquettish flirtation with Ezra, a charming smile curving her mouth when she managed to catch his eyes.

He'd smiled at her the first time he'd noticed her warm, pointed regard, then looked away, suppressing another inner sigh of boredom. He'd glanced back at her again a few minutes later when he felt the sensation of her fixed scrutiny on his cheek and caught her head tilting in his direction in his peripheral vision. Her smile had flowered instantly upon their eyes meeting. He'd blinked, given another polite smile of his own with a nod, then turned away again. The stuffy box they were all trapped in, however, offered only so much of interest and she was, if nothing else, an esthetic pleasure. His eyes had strayed to her bright smile once again after another interminable five minutes of dullness.

It was immediately after that third glance toward her and the meeting of their eyes that Chris had suddenly shifted, unearthing himself from under the hat he'd tipped over his face at the beginning of their journey. He stretched a little as though he were waking up, though if he'd ever been asleep at all, Ezra would be astonished. Chris would rather walk on hot coals than have to engage in small talk with mundane strangers. Hiding under his hat in any such confined situation was a common Chris Larabee behavior.

But of a sudden, on the final leg of their trip between Eagle Bend and Four Corners, Chris was unmistakably awake and alert, if still partially shielding his face with his hat. He'd apparently decided to spend the rest of their passage seeking to assuage his own ennui via driving Ezra outright loco with his provocative pose, which had, in fact, successfully--

Ezra blinked. Why, yes, Chris's ploy had indeed succeeded in distracting him completely from the charms of their youthful fellow captive. Well, well. He'd never thought of Chris as a man who'd give a noodle for Ezra's attention shifting elsewhere.

He hid a smile warmer than any a winsome young thing in a poke bonnet would ever stir in him.

Two, however, could play that game and Chris should know better than to try to kid a kidder.

Ezra straightened himself squarely in his seat--legs still crossed from blasted necessity, dammit--and set his eyes directly on Chris, holding them intently as Chris's shadowed gaze matched his stare. With Chris focused on him, Ezra slowly lifted just the left side of his mouth into a half-smile that would, he knew, deepen the dimple in that cheek while also giving him a steely, challenging look.

(Of course he'd practiced various such expressions in front of a mirror! A good conman knew how to manage his facial expressions to convey whatever would most effectively manipulate his opponent. Mother had always praised his youthful endeavors in that area. Now, as Mother had always promised, practice would pay ample dividends.)

Keeping his eyes pinned on Chris's under his brim and his hand still keeping firm hold of the strap, Ezra allowed his body to sway with the rocking of the coach rather than struggling to fight its motion. Back and forth, he let his upper and lower body both fall into a rhythmic motion. After a few long moments, he lifted his free left hand and rested it palm down on his thigh, relaxed fingers pointing the way to his groin, watching as Chris's eyes darted down to follow the movement before snapping back up to meet his stare. Ezra deepened his half smile and watched Chris shift momentarily before stilling himself with his own iron will.

Chris acknowledged his riposte with a genuine amused smile that eclipsed his smirk while his narrowing eyes warmed with a message Ezra could read clear as a headline in the _Clarion News_. As they entered the outskirts of Four Corners, he did a quick calculation of the time it would take for them to claim their horses from the livery and make their way out to Chris's shack for a proper homecoming celebration before anybody knew they were back.

Mother was quite right that gentlemen didn't bounce, but Ezra, fortunately for both himself and Chris, was no gentleman. Chris took particular delight in divesting Ezra of the sham trappings of a gentleman to reveal the down-dirty wildness they exulted in alone together at every opportunity. Ezra gave Chris an imaginary tip of his hat for initiating this round of public sparring that would make their private coupling by moonlight in a few short hours all the sweeter.

Not to forget--which Ezra had no intention of doing!--the curious and unprecedented matter of Chris's seemingly taking umbrage at Ezra's merely noticing a toothsome young woman, which hinted at a whole new dimension to explore alongside the bodily revels they'd been savoring together for months.

On reflection, stagecoaches were, perhaps, not entirely of the devil after all.


End file.
